


Trust?

by fandomens (gentlewhumping)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous Slash, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Apologies, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt Crowley, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Light Angst, Loss of Trust, Misunderstandings, Partial Mind Control, Possibly Pre-Slash, Softie Crowley (Good Omens), Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 19:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlewhumping/pseuds/fandomens
Summary: Aziraphale makes assumptions because Crowley is a demon and Crowley's trust in him is damaged. Apologies are important in a healthy relationship!





	Trust?

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is one chapter, but it's broken into 3 sections.  
The first is mostly just prologue type writing. The actual story starts in the second part. :)

Angels and Demons are able to perform miracles and temptations. These abilities manifest in many different ways, including moving objects, changing minor details in reality, and putting suggestions in people's heads, among other things. Suggestions could be just that, an idea, a thought that they could listen to or wave away, but angels and demons are able to make these suggestions stronger. Strong enough, even, that a demon would call it controlling their mind. Angels, of course, would never refer to it as such, instead choosing to say that it was 'utilizing God's creations for Her will.' Either or, the result was that the human's mind was temporarily put to the celestial beings' use.  


Just the same as any other miracle, these suggestions could be performed on other angels and demons as well. Admittedly, the pull was much weaker, but the pull was still there. For example, if an angel and a demon were arguing, and the demon suggested to the angel that they ought to leave and let the demon get on with their day, the angel might hesitate for a moment, but would quickly overcome this sensation. The reverse scenario would also be true. It's also supposed that the more readily a demon or angel's will is manipulated, the more in tune they are with the one manipulating them. But that theory was only prescribed to by the rather more allusive, strange, theological types of angels. There was no proof, beyond one angel's three hundred page thesis on demon and angel composition. None of these scenarios have ever been properly and intentionally tested, because demons and angels do not commonly associate with one another, and when they do, one member of the party is usually left quite dead in the end. After all, a weakened suggestion is not quite equal to a torch lit by hellfire, or a jug brimming with holy water.  


One angel and one demon were the sole exception. And they had never tested such a scenario, because in the thousands of years they had known one another, they had never felt the need to. They, despite their supposed core fundamental differences, had reached an understanding of mutual trust. They did not need to put suggestions in one another's heads, nor did they feel the urge to bring about the other's demise using hellfire or holy water. Instead they worked alongside one another, and though not always in harmony, it was amiable enough for the odd pair. And their names were Aziraphale and Crowley, angel and demon respectively.  


But you know them, so let us jump ahead to the main story.

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

It was the year 1932, Crowley was in Australia, and he was having a fantastic trip. He had snapped up a bit of farmland on the frontlines for the duration of his stay, wanting to see first hand the hilarity ensue. Round after round was fired across the fields, but no bodies fell. The Australian soldiers seemed to be of mixed emotion. Some were cursing under their breath, annoyance and embarrassment shining through, while others were having to stifle belly laughs, trying to steady their firearms. Crowley simply stared out the window, a grin plastered on his face as he caused each bullet to miss it's target.  


When the dust cleared, there was only one fallen, which Crowley felt a bit bad about, but it couldn't have been helped- the soldiers had spent far too many resources to not get at least one emu.  


The Major commanding the troops fell into hysterics, shouting about useless soldiers and, if Crowley heard correctly 'idiots being outwitted by a flock of birds.' Crowley's grin grew even wider. Yes, this trip was well worth it.  


Crowley had heard that the emu population was getting a bit rowdy in Australia, and he knew just how to have some fun with it. A slight migration path divergence here, a few well timed farmer complaints there, and suddenly!! Actual military officers were waging a war againt an overgrown flock of emus. When he told hell about this one, they were gonna... well, likely not care. But hey, he technically caused a war, right?? That'd for sure land him some off time, if nothing else.  


A couple days later, the troops had rallied again, and this time Crowley was disguised among them. He planned to jam the machine guns midway through the first rounds, and had to keep a gleeful smirk off his face. Instead he fiddled with his glasses for a moment before turning to the soldier on his left and saying,  


"Dreadfully funny business, innit?"  


The man, it seemed, was not one of the good humored ones. "If you think vermin causing further hardship in a time of economic crisis is funny, then I suppose so." He said the words with vemon dripping from his mustache.  


Crowley rolled his eyes, not that the man could see. "Yeah, well, military involvement doesn't seem like the best use of limited funds, but then what do I know?"  


"Yes, what /do/ you know?" The man questioned back sarcastically.  


Crowley suddenly wanted the man's gun to backfire.  


The Major then called the men to attention, pointing out the enemy; a bit aways, down the hill from where they were stationed, were the emus.  


"Ready? On my count. Aim, Fi-"  


Suddenly the world seemed to slow down a bit. A lot. Crowley blinked, but it took too long to accomplish. Then the world was back on time, and the troops were all asleep.  


"Put that down this instant!" Came a very angry voice from behind Crowley. He didn't hesitate to drop the gun, didn't even think about it. His fingers just loosened as though obeying another body, and the firearm landed in the grass with a dull thud. It was a celestial suggestion, and it was strong enough that Crowley complied. He regained control of himself in less than a second, but the damage had been done.  


"What in the heavens are you doing here Crowley? Starting a war?? And just after the humans wrapped up the Great War??" Aziraphale had marched up the hill and now stood in front of Crowley. He was obviously furious, and Crowley felt red hot anger course through his own veins as well.  


"You didn't have to do that." Crowley replied, ignoring everything Aziraphale had said. "You could have just asked me to set it down. Why did you-"  


"Crowley you had a /gun/!!! You were going to /use it/! You were going to make these men /kill/!! I don't even know who Australians would be fighting, on their own land... a civil war, Crowley, is that it?"  


Crowley let out a dry chuckle that sounded more like a strangled yelp than a laugh. "Me? Start a messy war? I thought you knew me better than that. It's emus. They were fighting emus."  


"Emus? I don't- the birds??" Aziraphale shook his head. "Fighting birds, really? That is the most preposterous thing you've ever implied, and the fact that you are /lying/ to my face... Well I should expect no better, I really shouldn't-"  


"I don't lie, angel, you know that."  


"Then why are you lying now??" Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and the world around Crowley went a bit slow again. "Why are these men at war?"  


Crowley felt his tongue, heavy in his mouth, and he felt his jaw, tense and robotic, both move, but not of his own accord. "The emus keep destroying the farmers' crops." His body was going to keep talking, but Crowley regained control and he immediately snapped his mouth shut and took several steps back.  


"Don't do that. Don't you dare do that. How could you." Crowley said. He was furious, but also shaking violently from another, deeper emotion. Betrayal? Bewilderment? Consternation? Aziraphale had never acted this way before. Granted, Aziraphale had never caught him in the midst of leading an army to it's demise, and that's precisely what he thought was happening here, but none of that mattered to Crowley.  


Aziraphale's eyes widened, and he turned to look at the base of the hill opposite to the one he had come from. Down below, there were dozens upon dozens of emus, sleeping in much the same fashion as the soldiers surrounding the angel's feet. Aziraphale had thought he had put two platoons to sleep, and, in a way, he had. It would have been comical, if not for the conversation he was having. The accusations he had thrown out.  


"Oh, no, my dear, I-" Aziraphale looked back to Crowley, but the demon was gone.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Two years passed by without Crowley or Aziraphale catching wind of one another. The dust bowl hit the USA, and Austria had just gotten a new constitution. Aziraphale was in the Philippines at the time, working on a pearl to gift the lovely colony, when he spotted a distinct pair of sunglasses and head of hair, shorter than last time he saw it, but distinct just the same.  


"Crowley!" Aziraphale crowed happily. Much to his dismay, however, the demon barely spared him a glance before giving what appeared to be a shudder, and slipping off into a crowd of people.  


Crowley did not want to see Aziraphale. He still clearly remembered their last meeting, and was uneager to relive it. But Aziraphale had other plans, and caught his sleeve as he began to wade deeper into the crowd. He let go of the cuff almost as soon as he touched it, having successfully gotten the demon's attention.  


"Crowley dear, I was just on my way to dinner, and I would be ever grateful if you were to join me." The wave of people continued pushing, and the two found themselves on the outskirts of a sidewalk. It was an awkward place to stop, but stop they did.  


"Do I have a choice in the matter?" Crowley growled. "Or are you just going to force me to sit down with a bowl of arroz caldo?"  


"Actually I was thinking inasal." Aziraphale expected a snicker at that, but instead Crowley huffed, so Aziraphale changed tactic. "Listen, Crowley dear, last time we spoke you left before I had the chance to apologise properly. I'd like to do that now, if I could."  


Crowley cocked an eyebrow at that. "I suppose..." He muttered in a disinterested tone. It didn't fool Aziraphale for a second.  


"I wanted to say that I'm terribly sorry for using miracles to exert control over your corporeal form. In these 5,000- well, almost 6,000, now- years we've known one another, you've never truly given me reason to do such a thing. It was unfair of me to assume that you were doing something so very terrible, even if you're a demon. Besides, the more I thought about it, the more silly I realize I was being. It's not particularly your way to kill people directly, is it? You're quite unlike any other demon I've heard of."  


Crowley ducked his head, happy, angry, embarrassed, and grateful all at once. There was a pause before Crowley responded. "I don't mind you assuming I'm doing rotten things, I'm a demon still. Just... ask first? Before threatening to smite me? I wouldn't lie to you."  


"Oh, after all this time, I honestly don't think I'd have it in me to smite you." Aziraphale admitted lightly. "I'm sure I could come up with something, though. Maybe just a quick discorporation if you get too active."  


Crowley shook his head with a light chuckle. "That... seems fair, angel."  


Aziraphale smiled up at the demon, and said, "I won't do it again, you know."  


"Well then, how about that inasal? Maybe a cassava cake for dessert." Crowley said, a small, hesitant smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.  


"That sounds lovely, my dear."  


The two began making their way to a 'lovely little family owned business,' as Aziraphale described it, and with each step the tension in Crowley's body became unraveled.  


"So,' Aziraphale asked conversationally, "are we going to talk about why my suggestions were so powerful on you, or-?"  


"Ngk!" Crowley sputtered. "I think we'd better not." He rushed the words out as though they burned his throat, and his cheeks deepened a shade.  


"Hm, if you think it wise." Aziraphale smirked to himself, and they spoke of it no more.


End file.
